


Death Predictions

by Minuete



Series: His and Her Angst [9]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Is this considered fluff?, Light Angst, Light-Hearted, Male-Female Friendship, POV Mulder, Post-episode s03e04 Clyde Bruckman's Final Repose, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-08 20:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12261690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minuete/pseuds/Minuete
Summary: A phone conversation between Mulder and Scully discussing about death and 1-900 numbers.





	Death Predictions

**Author's Note:**

> I figured a lighter story was needed after "Cherry Blossom Viewing". I had to pull a reference from "Small Potatoes" and a small bit from "Detour". Mainly Season 3 references.

Mulder tried to shut his brain down by watching the video Frohike let him borrow last week, in Frohike’s words “mind-blowing girl-on-girl action” but the events were still fresh on his mind. Fucking Clyde Bruckman and the damned psychic prediction about his death: autoerotic asphyxiation. There were many instances where Mulder thought he could have or should have died being neck-deep in a government conspiracy, but autoerotic asphyxiation? _What the hell?_ He shut off his VCR and switched to his TV flipping through late-night informercials as he reached for his cordless and speed-dialed Scully. It only rang once; Mulder could hear Scully cussing and fumbling with the phone before answering, “Scully.”

“Impressive, Scully. Did you predict I was going to call you this late?”

“No, actually. I’m still awake; I had to reassemble my cordless and just finished when you called.”

“Reassemble?”

“The phone broke apart after I hurled it at The Stupendous Yappi commercial,” she sighed, “I don’t know what came over me.” Mulder heard more scuffling in the background followed by a small bark. Scully affectionately chuckled and in a sing-song voice asked, “Queequag, did I wake you up, little guy?” It stirred up an emotion in Mulder that he didn’t anticipate: jealousy. Scully’s attention was going to be divided when he calls now, to a damn dog, no less. And she never had this type of inflection in her voice when she spoke to him. He heard tones ranging from exasperation to disbelief to apprehension, but never an affectionate sing-song voice. _But why would she_ , he thought, _we’re just partners_.

“I don’t know why you took up a dead man’s suggestion of taking up a dog, Scully. I mean the thing chowed down on its owner!” he exclaimed slightly disgusted with the dog, slightly annoyed with his ungrounded jealousy.

“You make Queequag sound like a phase, a hobby to ‘take up’. I didn’t take the suggestion lightly, Mulder. I know the huge responsibility of owning a dog. I just think it’s nice to feel needed and depended upon. Besides, it’s comforting to come home and be greeted and welcomed by a cute little furball.” Scully cooed “cute little furball”- why the female population coo at “cute” things, Mulder had no idea, must be motherly instinct. He assumes that Scully is petting the dog as she cooed the last part of her sentence because he heard a weak growl and another yip. He almost interjected to say he needed and depended on her, but stopped himself. That would make it sound like they were an item. And they were, in FBI partnership only...

“So what’s on your mind that you’re calling so late?” she asked him in a curious tone interrupting his wayward thoughts.

“Death,” he mumbled into the receiver still flipping through channels: informercial, informercial, news, “Seinfeld” re-run, weather channel, “Cheers” re-run… He finally voiced it out loud, “I mean ‘autoerotic asphyxiation’, seriously?!”

“It would be an unbecoming death for you, Mulder,” Scully commented. _Was that a hint of mirth in her tone?_ He thought. He quieted his mind, realizing she continued, “Usually when police investigate someone who dies of autoerotic asphyxiation, there’s sexual paraphernalia that’s often found at the scene. The victim is usually found naked with a noose tied around his neck. Given the extensive collection that isn’t yours in a drawer at the office…”

“Are you mocking me, Scully?” he asked, “I’m honestly troubled by Clyde Bruckman’s prediction here!” He heard her giggle on the other end, which stopped his train of thought. He hadn’t heard her laugh since their first case together and couldn't help but join in with a chuckle into the receiver.

“Would you like to hear what he told me about my death?” she responded after her giggling subsided. Mulder heard more scuffling on her end from Queequag who’s panting now, “He said I won’t die, so take your prediction with a grain of salt, Mulder.”

“That’s good to hear about you, Scully,” he replied pleased and honestly felt a sense of relief.

Scully clucked her tongue and countered in her exasperated tone, “Mulder! People die! It’s a fact of life that no one can avoid! How we leave this earth isn’t in our control—“

“I dunno, Scully. I’m pretty sure I could control my autoerotic tendencies.”

“Says the guy who just a moment ago was disturbed he would die from said tendencies,” she scoffed. Mulder could picture Scully rolling her eyes, “You know, Mulder, you could always have a second prediction. The Stupendous Yappi’s hotline is open right now. He charges $3.99 a minute.”

“Jesus, that’s insane!” Mulder exclaimed, “and people actually pay to hear his crap?!”

“How much does your 1-900 number charge?”

“$2.99 the first minute, $1.99 every minute after, long-distance rates apply,” he answered without missing a beat, “and Chantal is a professional at her job.”

“Chantal, is it? I thought for sure her name would be Bambi.” There was that amusement in her tone again. Mulder smiled into his phone. It’s been a while since they had this light type of bantering, with all that had happened in New Mexico and with Melissa…

“What kind of parents would name their daughter Bambi?” he asked amused himself at Scully’s choice of a name.

“Same kind of parents who would name their daughter Skyla, Chastity, Chantal, Star, Angel, Destiny…”

“Have you been perusing through the collection that isn’t mine?”

“No, but I _did_ happen to see an empty box cover that also isn’t yours next to your VCR that showcases such names.”

“It’s Frohike’s. He’s letting me borrow it,” Mulder explained away quickly, feeling chagrined that he didn’t place it away before Scully swung by last week to further discuss about “Lightning Boy”. The box cover had a number of women that ranged from bleached blonds to box-dyed redheads.

“Hmm…” was Scully’s reply as he could hear her switching her phone to her other ear, the receiver closer to Queequag’s panting and snorts.   _The damn dog's ruining the moment_ , he thought, _but what moment is this anyway between partners?  Friends?_   “Mulder, I hope for your sake that you would be surrounded by loved ones when you die.”

“Honestly, Scully, if I live a good portion of my life with a full head of hair, then I’d be happy,” he responded as he finally settled on a channel that had “Mork and Mindy” reruns. His cleared his throat before he murmured, “I like Clyde’s prediction for you, Scully.”

“Good night, Mulder.” He could hear her smiling through the phone, like a gentle kiss on his cheek. He hung up the phone and let his mind drift thinking what an immortal Scully could achieve.


End file.
